


Peter Nureyev and the One That Got Away

by thingstodowithmyhands



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 16:11:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17046776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingstodowithmyhands/pseuds/thingstodowithmyhands
Summary: Peter Nureyev has a detective-sized problem and a heist-sized solution, or; Peter visits new Old Town.Set between Man of the Future Part I and II & canon-compliant only up to that point.





	Peter Nureyev and the One That Got Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KiaraSayre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraSayre/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide!!
> 
> Also, it is shockingly difficult to keep track of what has and hasn’t been visually explained in-universe, so please take everything with a grain of artistic licence. Several grains.

It takes less than a year for the thief formerly known as Peter Nureyev to go back to Mars.

He has a lot of excuses. The universe is a vast, untamed wilderness full of rubes just falling over themselves to give him their jewels and trinkets. Mars is too picked over, too close to the core worlds, too overdone. He doesn’t like to repeat himself. He doesn’t like to leave a trail. 

But he’s been Marcus Clear for nearly a month now, and Marcus loves a challenge. He’s at a swanky bar on the lip of the Outer Rim when the news from Hyperion City flashes on his comm: wide-eyed idealist Mayor O’Flaherty has won the City in a landslide victory. The bar is awash in speculations; Mx. Perara is dead, or driven underground, or otherwise hobbled. Their vault is empty, or bursting, or barely protected. Marcus clears a corner and starts digging; he reads the breathlessly adoring op-eds, the coded messages on social media, the loosely sketched police records. Then he pays his tab and leaves. Within weeks, every nobody in the galaxy will be falling over themselves to stake a claim on those unprotected riches, and Marcus isn’t going to let some idiot take what should be his. 

Also, he’d having trouble formulating an excuse that doesn’t call a certain detective to mind.

It doesn’t take long to creatively borrow a luxury spaceship and jailbreak the security system with a USB and a plasma wrench. It’s small but sleek, well-made enough to take his favorite modifications and still purr like a dream. As he plots the trajectory, he daydreams about all the beautiful things Mx. Perara hoarded. Weaponry, he imagines, or precious jewels. Probably both. They’re more stylish than most of his targets; he imagines he might even keep a few lovely things to wear. He taps the hollow of his neck, where a ruby might comfortably nestle. Yes, this is exactly what he needs. A big score to erase everything that came before. He’ll take the trinkets, and leave Marcus and Mars in the dust.

Even with the faster-than-light capacities of his swanky new ride, the trip takes almost a week. Marcus may be in the habit of ignoring problems, but Peter isn’t. He acknowledges quietly to himself that he had picked the furthest profitable haunt from Mars in the galaxy, and, with effort, releases the thought. Yes, he was a coward. It’s not the first time. He spends his days drawing up plans, scratching doodles on all his important papers, and perfecting his Martian twang.

He keeps himself too busy to think of anything else. 

\--

His ship glides through the shimmering blue Hyperion City sphere without notice, a silent streaking shadow visible only with the type of high-tech software he’d taken the liberty of corrupting on this last visit. From there, it’s an easy ride to Old Town. He punches in coordinates to an alley near the outskirts of town, wide enough for his little spaceship, but too close to the sewers to invite thieves.

Well. Other thieves. 

He flicks the dimmers on well before the ship begins to descend over too-familiar streets, so it’s only by the saving grace of well-honed reflexes that he’s able to jerk the controls up in time to avoid a massive building right where his quiet alley is supposed to be. 

He hovers in the air, breathing sharply. Through his darkened window, he can only see the faint outline of the behemoth, and it takes long, precious seconds before he can click off the setting. Bright lights stream into the cockpit, glimmering off the windowed apartment complex in front of him. Mutely, he pulls the ship back, letting the whole of Old Town into view. He can see bakeries, bookshops, even a veterinary clinic. A dozen sweetly cooing pigeons fly across his dashboard, scales glinting in the sunlight. It reminds him of another city, another life. 

Peter lets the character of Marcus Clear slip away, dead before he even hit the dusty red ground. He’d known that a new name wouldn’t protect him for long, that his manufactured shell of indifference would crack in the face of a certain detective. He’d planned his meeting with Juno without thinking too broadly of it, a vaguely sketched out notion that he would swan into his office, high-glam and brilliant, unaffected by his time alone, better and stronger for the year away. That notion is dead, too. 

Because if there’s anything that Peter knows about Juno Steel, private detective, it’s this: he would never let his horrible, run-down city fall apart without him. 

Peter swaps to manually controls and deftly wheels the ship around the building until he sees a relatively clear patch of land. He thinks, dully, that he has more to worry about from law enforcement than thieves in this new Old Town. He removes and clears his programming by default, not thinking of anything at all. 

A loud rap on the outside of the ship shakes him into action. He arms himself, spinning thought the data stored on his comms for the personnel files of the Hyperion City Police Department, and unfurls the ramp. A dozen backup systems spring to life around him; there are few skills that Peter has in as much abundance as “escaping law enforcement”. 

But the thing that ascends up the ramp is not a member of the H.C.P.D. It’s a massive mechanical thing, with sharp claws and a pulse gun unholstered at it’s side. It stares at him with one massive, unblinking eye, it’s thick, coiled neck undulating like a cobra about to strike. It looks like a child’s drawing of a monster, weaponized to the hilt. He keeps his movements slow and steady as he approaches, playing with settings on a disruptor until he’s relatively sure the thing can barely see him at all.

“State your name.” It says, spinning it’s head to try to get a better read on him. “All users must be accounted for.” 

“Hello!” he says, well aware that his voice will be garbled into meaningless mush for the robot to stumble through processing. “Very lazy of the government to use police that can be reprogrammed, don’t you think?”

It whirls again, coming closer. “State your name, citizen of Old Town.” 

Despite himself, Peter feels his lips stretching into a fox-like grin. He shuffles around for another piece of equipment, then flips off the disruptor. Abruptly, the thing is inches away from him, terrifyingly fast. He states his name.

The machine backs off, slowly. “User. Juno Steel. You are needed at the mayor’s office.”

He’s full on smiling now. If Juno was here, this would be fixed. Ergo, Juno is not here. Ergo, someone else needs to fix his city. Someone with experience. 

“Perfect,” he purrs, in Juno’s voice. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

\--

Peter follows the robot through the repurposed Old Town, every block twice as charming as the one before. It leads him to another massive building just inside a secondary glittering dome protecting the smaller city from the rest of Hyperion. The residence is an impressive example of twenty-second century architecture, painstakingly recreated in gold and marble. He’s wearied, but not surprised to see a high-vaulted mural of the virtues-as-goddesses painted on the walls. Like the robots and the rest of the town, it is technically perfect and emotionally barren. He quickens his steps, keeping his eyes down for the remainder of the walk. There’s nothing else he needs to see.

At last, the thing takes a sharp turn into a vestibule and stops short. The room is occupied; another floating monstrosity guards the door, but it’s head has been disconnected, lolling down it’s chest and revealing a complicated array of wires. Standing on a chair and two boxes is a frizzy-haired woman, hands deep in the whirling machinery. From his view he can only see her patterned dress and rhinestone-studded glasses, but it’s enough. He knows who she is.

Rita looks up as he approaches, eyes widening in recognition. “Mista… Glass?” Peter feels his options narrow considerably as her fingers flicker across an invisible screen. He remembers that she’s a technical genius, that he is in a room with two heavily armed robots and a single plasma knife. He wonders what Juno has told her about him. She doesn’t look like someone who’d be afraid to look him up on a search engine. 

He clicks his voice modulator off, raising his arms to show they’re empty. “I think we should--.”

It’s only a handful of words, but it’s enough; the robot is on him between one breath and the next, claws raking at his chest. He only just manages to dodge away, keeping his jacket mostly intact-- it’s a favorite, after all. He drops to the floor, fingers closing around the hilt of his trusty knife. 

“Mista Glass!” Rita’s voice sounds like it’s coming from miles away. “Hold on!”

He has time to do a quick mental calculation, then he jams the knife into an important looking processor and leaps to the other side of the vestibule. A thick plate of bullet-resistant glass has sprung up between him and Rita, trapping her against the door. Security protocol. He should have expected it.

“Stall it!” she screams. Is she trying to help? Did Juno really not tell her-- of course he didn’t. Peter doesn’t quite have the time for an exasperated sigh, but he stores the thought for later reflection. Oh, Juno. 

“Hold. Still.” The monster has stopped, raising the unholstered gun. Shit. Shit. He dives again, a half second too late; the plasma shot pulses through his left shoulder and he stumbles to the ground near the second mutilated robot. He makes an undignified scramble behind it, using the frozen chassis as cover as he cases the thing for a pulse gun of his own. He’s not a crackshot, and his dominant arm is screaming in pain, but at this distance he should be able to do some damage.

“Yes!” Rita whoops, crystal-clear as the glass in front of her vanishes. From his angle, he can only see her heels, but his heart beats double-time as a second pair of feet join hers in sensible scuffed black combat boots. 

“Nureyev!” Juno Steel shouts, “stay down!” He doesn’t, of course. He props himself up just in time to see an avenging goddess unload his gun into an opened apparently-vulnerable hatch on the creature’s head until it shudders to a stop.

Juno looks at Peter.

Peter looks at Juno.

Juno is worse for the wear; he looks tired, beaten, bewildered. He’s in borrowed clothes, a jacket too big for him, skirt an unflattering shade of green. Peter has never wanted anyone so much in his life. He tries to imagine what sort of impression his breaking-and-entering clothes make as that critical eye looks him over: tight black pants, upturned collar, ear cuff in a demure black titanium. Does he look dangerous? Repentant? Desperate? 

He gives Juno his best smile, hoping. Always hoping. “My dear detective,” he drawls, slipping a little of Rex Glass into his speech, “we’ve got to stop running into each other like this.” He leans against the robot in a way he hopes reads ‘dangerous and seductive’ and not ‘this hurts really quite badly’. 

Juno’s mouth upturns in a tiny glittering smile that turns his insides to water. But it’s his eye, bright with a joy that’s pure as his own, that forces his own smile to melt into something much sweeter, sharper. Something true. 

“Nureyev.” Juno says again. Behind him, Rita whips her head back and forth as her comm screen flashes. If she hadn’t looked him up before-- well. Too late now. But can’t find it in himself to chastise Juno for throwing his name around, not when it sounds so sweet falling from his lips. 

“So?” Rita says, apparently unable to hold herself back any longer. “Did you give the mayor whatfor?”

“I gave him something, alright. Come on, let’s get the hell out of here.” He turns back to Peter. “Will you--”

“Yes.” Peter says.

“I didn’t even ask a question,”

“You didn’t need to.” Juno lifts an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “I’m here for you,” Peter quickly adds. “Also some jewelry. But mostly you.”

Juno looks disgruntled, but he offers his arm and Peter all but falls into it. 

“Shall we?” Peter says. 

\--

Outside the building, Juno is disappointingly all business. He deposits Peter on a nearby bench and roughly sketches what happened with Mayor O’Flaherty. He leaves out all the interesting bits, like what the fuck, and why would you listen to that, but the gist is this: O’Flaherty promises New Town is a paradise without side effects. Juno intends to find one. 

“Is there a reason we’re not stopping at ‘killer robots’?” Peter asks, in what he feels is a fairly reasonable tone.

Juno just looks at him. “They didn’t attack me or Rita.” he says, also reasonably. 

The three of them sit in silence for a moment. 

“I wasn’t able to dig too deep by jacking directly into the Theia,” Rita says, thoughtfully, “but if we knew where the central processing unit was, I should be able to rewrite their programming. Or at least take a look at it.” 

“Oh, you mean like this?” With a flourish, Peter produces a map. “I picked it up on my way in.”

“When??” Juno says, flabbergasted. Peter preens. 

“Juno and I can visit his friend while you get into the system. If anything is amiss with Mick, we’ll have a back way in. Unless you think you can trust O’Flaherty to stick to his word?”

Juno barks a laugh. It sounds worryingly hollow.

“No, no, it’s good to have a backup. Thanks, Nureyev. And Rita--” he pauses. “I’ll see you soon.” 

She smiles. “Of course you will, boss.” She hurries down the block, and Juno watches until she turns the corner. 

“So.” Peter says when they’ve walked several blocks in contemplative silence. “Mick Mercury?”

“He’s a friend.” Juno says. “But also a walking disaster. If anyone can mess up Ramses O’Flaherty’s shining city on a hill, it’ll be Mick.”

“And then?” 

“And then, I don’t know. And then the next thing. I’ll figure it out.” 

“I see.” Peter says, keeping his voice carefully neutral. “It reminds me of a city I visited once. Beautiful place. Crime-free.” He doesn’t look at Juno, but he feels the detective tense up next to him. His comm beeps at him. “We’re here, I think.”

“Here?” Juno’s surprise is understandable. It’s another massive skyscraper, as lovely as any in the richer part of the City. It looks like clean and expensive, the type of co-op that sells tiny apartments for millions. “Maybe it’s really shitty on the inside.”

They make their way inside. The lobby has a gurgling fountain inside of it. 

“Inside inside.” Juno amends.

But the apartment that Mick Mercury welcomes them into with a cry of “Juno!” is anything but. It’s well furnished, exceedingly roomy for Hyperion City standards, bright with sunlight that streams in from the balcony. Peter imagines the next room down the hall looks the same, and the next, and the next, neat little rows of neat little citizens the whole town over.

There’s only one way Peter can think of to maintain this kind of order in a city of criminals, and it turns his stomach. 

“Juno,” he hisses, “Can we speak a moment?” Juno tears his eyes away from Mick, who busies himself with tea. 

“He’s great.” Juno says. “He’s doing great. I’ve asked every question I can think of.”

“How about this one?” Peter says, exasperated, “How is he doing it.”

“Doing what?”

“Controlling them. Think, Juno! This is a city full of opinionated people, criminals, independent souls. Do you think they’re really trading away their freedom for a bakery called Bundt in the Oven?”

Juno frowns. “Maybe this is--”

“Don’t you dare say better.” Peter snaps. “This isn’t better. What exactly did Mayor O’Flaherty say to you?”

“Here’s the tea!” Their host scurries in, dropping a tray of scalding hot-- and strangely gelatinous-- water onto his new dining room table. There’s scorch marks on the china. A quick glance at Juno confirms that yes, this is Mick Mercury doing great. 

“Thank you very much, Mr. Mercury,” Peter says, picking up a cup and surreptitiously dumping the steaming mess into a conveniently placed potted plant. Juno appears to be actually drinking the stuff. Incredible. 

“My pleasure, Mr.-- I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.” His voice is puppy-dog eager, but the emotion doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Peter flicks a glance at Juno. He’s anxious, tapping a fingernail on the side of the tea mug, pressing Mick again and again for inconsequential details. He knows something is wrong, the same as Peter. He’s just ignoring his instincts.

Peter knows better than that.

The disruptor is still in his pocket, still tuned to the Theia that took him into the mayor’s residence. He twists the knob by tiny increments, watching Mick’s face. The he abruptly stands. 

“Well this has been very nice visit but I think we have to go. Come along, Juno.” He grabs Juno’s arm with his uninjured one, tugging.  
“Aw, guys, don’t leave. I’ll make more tea.” Mick leans over the coffee table, posture loose, relaxed. But there’s something menacing about it that Peter absolutely does not want to investigate. 

“We’ll be sure to visit again,” Peter says brightly, increasing the pressure on Juno’s arm until he’s standing too, tilted towards the exit. “Have a lovely evening!” He twists the dial sharply, then ducks.

Peter is usually rather good with plans. He’s good with electronics, with mental maps, with his knife and his fingers. But for the second time today, he underestimates the Theia. Within one moment and the next, Mick is between them and the door. This time it’s Juno who tugs him, dragging him towards the balcony and locking it behind them. 

“Come on, guys! You really gonna lock me out of my own balcony?” Peter cases the small space quickly -- no fire escape, no give on the walls. He peers over it, counting the feet to the next balcony and rummaging in his jacket. It’s too far to jump, but he should be able to--

“What the hell was that?” Juno says, breathing hard. He looks shaken, but not nearly as surprised as he should be.

“The Theia, it’s controlling him-- but you knew that, didn’t you?”

Juno swallows. “I didn’t-- I didn’t know. I needed to be sure.”

“Naturally.”

It’s not the time to ask anything important. Peter knows this. But he also knows Juno shut him down three times on the walk over. He turns to face Juno, back to the balcony railing. Juno is a little bit taller than him, so he has to crane his neck back to look him in the eye. He resolves to never visit Mars without heels again.

“Juno.” he says. Then he chickens out. “My arm hurts.”

“Poor baby.” Juno says. His tone is sarcastic, but he leans in closer, lifting his arm for Peter to snuggle into. He reverses his resolution vis a vis heels. His face is pressed against Juno’s warm neck, and he’s surrounded by his smell, spicy, and soft, and ineffably Juno. The hotel bed had smelled just like it, when Peter woke up alone. 

“Why did you leave?” he murmurs. The words are somehow easier to say like this, tucked into Juno’s arm. Juno stiffens, but doesn’t lean away like Peter expected. Instead he lets out a soft sign, parcelling his words out slowly. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve felt for anyone what I feel for you. Maybe ever, I don’t know. I go crazy trying not to think about you all the time.” He runs a calloused hand over the exposed half of Peter’s cheek.

“That’s not an answer.” Peter says. His words are muffled, but he knows Juno hears them.

“I was-- I was scared, okay?”

Peter is silent for a long, selfish moment, letting the comfort and contentment seep through his skin. He wants to remember this the way he remembers Brahma, like a scab that never heals. Then he pulls away.

“I see.” he says. He wants to say more. He wants to say that he gave Juno a dozen opportunities to back out, to say that it was too much. But it won’t change things. 

Peter remotely powers off the stealth capacity of the ship that’s been hovering below them for several minutes. “Oh look, there’s our ride.” 

“Nureyev--”

“Come along, Juno,” Peter says, not looking at him. 

Juno grabs his shoulder, tightly. “After--”

“After, if you still want to talk, we’ll talk.” After, Peter will play his favorite game and disappear. “Now, Mayor O’Flaherty has some explaining to do.”

\--

It’s only been a few hours since they’ve left, but the residence is eerily quiet. Juno and Peter slip through the building without encountering a single Theia. From the rounded set of his shoulders, Peter can tell Juno knows they’re walking into a trap. They don’t stop.

Juno hesitates only once, in front of the mayor’s office. The debris of the robots has been cleared away, the hallway as clean and anonymous as it was before the fight. He looks at Peter, and Peter gives him a small nod in return. 

Visibly steeling himself, Juno squares his shoulders and opens the door. 

And stops so suddenly that Peter only just stops himself from walking right into him. 

Slumped over the desk in the center of the room is an older, distinguished-looking gentleman. His face is slack, and Peter immediately knows he’s dead. On the table are dozens of papers, notes, photographs. He slides around Juno, curious, and picks up a paper at random. It’s arguments, dozens of arguments, the ravings of man who has run out of time. He recognizes his name, his real name, on a few of the print-outs and more than one of the handwritten notes. He picks up a think sheaf of papers and dumps them on the floor.

The sound shakes something loose in Juno-- he’s just been standing at the entrance, unmoving. Now, he creeps forward slowly, as though Ramses is going to jump up and start in on him. There’s something not quite right about Juno’s reaction, about the words flooding the pages around him. There’s something Peter is missing.

He calls Rita. As he fills her in, he watches Juno go through the papers with care bordering on reverence. He keeps the call on speaker, but he’s almost positive Juno hasn’t heard a word of it. 

“What are you looking for?” he asks, carefully. 

Juno shakes his head. “There must be-- something here. Something I can use. A clue, a message--” 

Peter plucks the paper out of Juno’s hand and reads half a sentence--Juno do you really think a murderer--then tears it in two, very deliberately. “There is nothing here but the remains of a madman. What he did to Old Town-- that’s wrong. He was wrong.”

The look Juno gives him is bleak “Is it? Maybe this is what progress looks like. What have I ever done for Old Town?”

“You’ve cared about it.” Peter says. “You defended it, you loved it. You know that Old Town doesn’t need to be rebuilt from the ground up, shoved into mindless conformity. You know that. It’s not a broken thing to be mended, it just--” he breaks off. Juno is looking at him differently now, a little sharper than before.

“Are we still talking about Old Town?” he asks. 

“Of course we’re talking about Old Town.” Peter pauses. “Rita--”

“I heard.” Juno says. 

“Well then. I suppose I should-- go. Now.”

“You promised--”

“I lied. We can’t always have what we want, now can we? I wanted you, Juno. I still want you. And I don’t think I can hang around tearing my heart out inch by inch.”

“Nureyev-- damn it. If you just give me a chance to explain…”

“I think you’ve said enough,” Peter turns around, blindly, towards the exit. If he stays, he’ll say something he regrets like: please. Like: I love you. 

“Peter, please.” Peter stops dead. “Please don’t go.”

Peter gave his name to Juno almost two years ago. He’d let him learn about Brahma, risked his life to save him, offered to share his life with him. He’d thought he’d given Juno everything. He thought if he ever used his first name it would sound awful, like Mags reaching out from the grave. But it doesn’t sounds like that at all. It sounds soft and lovely, like something precious. Suddenly Peter knows, with a bone-deep certainty, that Juno throws around his last name like it’s nothing, because he knows his first name is everything. 

“I wasn’t scared of you,” Juno says. He’s behind him now, close enough to reach out and touch. His voice is low but clear, and deadly serious. “I was scared of what it meant to love someone that much. I didn’t think I deserved you.”

“And what about me? What do I deserve?” 

“I thought-- someone better. But that was before.” The world feels like it’s folding just the two of them, Juno’s breath tickling his neck, his fingertips inches away from Peter’s.

“And now?” He keeps his voice steady as his heart rate climbs. Impossible. Impossible. 

“Now I think-- maybe, yeah. Maybe I’m enough.”

“God, Juno.” Peter turns around in the circle of Juno’s arms to stare at him directly. “You’re so--”

“Impossible? Infuriating?”

“Both of those,” Peter says with a smile. He closes the tiny space between them and whispers. “And beautiful, and brilliant, and wonderful.” And he kisses him. 

They’ve kissed before. First in Juno’s apartment: that was new, exhilarating like racing the Ruby Seven down a desert highway, wind in his hair. Then the second, tinged in desperation, eager to prove himself, to imprint Juno onto his skin.

This kiss is nothing like that. It’s a kiss with no beginning or end, the answer to a question Peter hasn’t dared ask. Juno presses Peter into a nearby wall, but there’s no urgency this time, no mad rush to undress. Just a kiss that might swallow him whole.

Juno pulls back, very slightly, and cups Peter’s face in his hand. “I won’t leave again. I promise. If you want me, I’m here.”

“I’m still a thief,” Peter points out. “I may leave, from time to time.” 

Juno smirks. “Didn’t do a lot of thieving today, did you? There was something about jewelry, if I recall?”

“I just-- I didn’t have time.” 

“Is that so.” Juno rearranges them, pressed against the wall so Peter is curled into him. They’re facing away from Ramses, away from the mess, but Juno doesn’t seem to notice any of it. His attention is entirely on Peter, and it thrills him. “The way I see it, you’re not a different man than you were. People never are, you know. You’re just-- more. There’s still a teenage revolutionary inside of you, ready to risk it all to save people you don’t know. You’re not a thief-- or at least, not just a thief.”

Peter settles against Juno, letting him card fingers through his hair. “And who am I, then?” he asks, knowing the answer. Juno doesn't’ disappoint.

“You’re Peter Nureyev.” he says. “And you’re mine.”

**Author's Note:**

> Very good bakery pun from Megan Amram: https://twitter.com/meganamram/status/913642289834090497


End file.
